But Now My Problems Had Been Set

I Would Gladly Have Accepted A Heaping Spoonful Of Nepotism When I Got Out Of College And Was Looking For A Job.

If I Go Into A Sandwich Shop Or Anywhere That Features 'today's Specials' On A Chalkboard More Than 10 Feet Away, I Have To Ask For A Printed Menu. I Smile At People I Don't Know On The Street And Ignore Those I Do. When At Home, I Often Find Myself Grabbing My 'back-up' Glasses To Search For The Better-loved Pair I Have Left On Top Of My Dresser.

No Affair That Begins With Such An Orchestrated Overture Can End On A Simple Note.

For A Long Time I Wanted To Draw, But I Could Never Get The Proportions Right. My Still Life Sketches Were The Artistic Equivalent Of Someone Who Has Misjudged The Space Constraints Of A Postcard, The Handwriting Shrinking Uncomfortably At The Bottom.

The Truth Is, I Wrote A Novel When I Was 23. It's Hideously Bad. Truly Rotten.